


Try and Stay Out (of your head)

by FaeryQueen07



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/FaeryQueen07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The first time he sees them, John thinks, </i>Matt would look good in<i>—and then cuts off that train of thought feeling just a little sick with guilt.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Try and Stay Out (of your head)

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this time I won't screw up my summaries, yeah? *sigh* The title comes from Greg Laswell’s _[Take a Bow](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBX49QLEPjg)_.

The first time he sees them, John thinks, _Matt would look good in_ —and then cuts off that train of thought feeling just a little sick with guilt. He fixes his fiercest scowl on his face as he waits for Lucy to come out of the store, then strides off toward the food court leaving Lucy and Matt to follow in his wake. A giant cheeseburger and fries later, John convinces himself it was lack of food that made him consider such a thing and leaves it at that.

The second time, it’s just Matt with him, and they’re trying to fight their way through the Macy’s crowd for in an ill-advised last minute run for forgotten Christmas gifts. Matt dips into the section with ease, heading right for his target, but John is stuck just on the outskirts, his gaze locked on the article of clothing, a wave of heat swamping through him. Then Matt is back, jerking his arm, tugging John through the press of bodies to the counter so they can pay and finally be free of the madhouse.

Once they’re safely back in John’s car, Matt lets out a loud breath and tips his head back against the seat. “Jesus,” he says, blowing out another gusty breath. “Give me cyber terrorists any day over that.”

John laughs, but the sound is a little high and thin, because all he can think is _red, red, red_ , and he’s pretty sure Matt would freak out if he knew. 

Matt slides him a curious glance, but John only shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just—crowds.” He glances up as a plane flies overhead and adds, “And the holidays. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Two days later, less than a week away from Christmas, John makes a concession, stopping into Macy’s on his way home from work. It’s a madhouse, which is expected, but he finds what he needs, pays for it, and gets the fuck out of there before anyone can suspect anything. He goes home, drops his purchase off on Matt’s dresser, then sets about making dinner. 

Matt wanders in an hour later with a gigantic cup of coffee in one hand and a file folder near-bursting with notes in the other. He looks harried, but he stops to drop a kiss to the corner of John’s mouth before disappearing into their bedroom. He returns seconds later, John’s purchase in hand and his eyebrows practically in his hairline.

“Decided my wardrobe needed an upgrade?”

“They were on sale,” John growls, hoping to dissuade him from continuing the conversation. He’s out of luck, though, because Matt just saunters—fucking _saunters_ —up to John and leans one hip against the counter.

“So were the flannel versions. So I guess my real question is: What made you choose _red silk_ boxers.”

John mentally flails for a moment, something that almost never happens, and he latches onto the first thing that pops into his head.

“Christmas color,” he says, and he reaches around Matt to grab the pepper grinder. “Problem with that?” he asks when Matt only continues to stare at him with narrowed eyes.

“Nope, not a one.” Matt’s tone says otherwise, but he moves away before John can say anything. He returns the boxers to the bedroom, then starts pulling out the fixings for a salad. “Oh, hey, Lucy called me earlier. Said she tried to reach you but your phone was dead.”

John grimaces and shakes his head. “Dropped the damn thing in a goddamn puddle on my way to the mall.” He glares out the kitchen window at the rain, but it ignores him.

“Ah. Well, she said she’s definitely coming over for Christmas Day dinner, but that she’s going to Jim’s parents’ house for Christmas Eve. And yes, she’s bringing him with her.”

John glowers, but it’s mostly for show. Now that Jim knows just who Lucy’s father is, he’s on his best behavior 24/7, which is great for John, but not so much for Lucy. He’d feel bad, but he’s still not ready to admit his baby girl has grown up.

“So what’d ya do all day, kid?” John asks to change the subject.

Matt launches into a detailed account of his day’s activities that somehow involves motherboards and Trojans. It’s like a history lesson meets Alien, and John doesn’t really understand a single thing Matt is saying except to know that Matt managed to save almost two decades worth of data that hadn’t been backed up. The last part John _does_ get, because Matt spent the first seventy-two hours of their co-habitation explaining why you should have multiple copies of everything stored in different places.

“So basically,” John says as he brings their plates to the table and slides into the chair across from Matt, “what you’re saying is that you saved the day.”

“And I didn’t even have to get shot.” Matt goes quiet as he eats, scrutinizing John through his fringe. It’s almost cute the way he seems to think John can’t see what he’s doing. Almost.

“If you’re looking for some great life-changing revelation in this face, kid, I gotta tell ya, you’re in for a major disappointment.”

“What? Oh, no.” Matt flushes, and his eyes dart around the room. “No, sorry. I just. Dinner is really great. John, man, are you sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

“I’m fine, Matthew,” John replies, because there’s no fucking way he’s going to say, _I have this image of you in women’s lace panties, kid, and I can’t get it out of my head_ because he’s not the kind of person who wants fucked up shit like that. Who wants his very _male_ partner to debase himself by wearing women’s lingerie just because John can’t stop thinking about it, about the way the red lace would look against Matt’s pale skin, or how he’d—

John shoves away from the table and dumps his plate on the counter, food untouched. “I’m going for a run,” he growls, and then he beats a hasty retreat, guilt gnawing at his gut when he glimpses the hurt look on Matt’s face on his way out of the room. 

It’s not any better later, when Matt wanders out of the bathroom in the red boxers and a pang of dissatisfaction shoots through John. He grimaces at Matt, mutters goodnight, and rolls away toward the window, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. Matt doesn’t say word, and the last sound John hears that night is the bedroom door clicking shut as Matt slips out of the room.

. . .

The rest of the week passes in that sort of thin silence that follows an unspoken argument. Holly was a class act when it came to giving John a peace of her mind, so he’s not sure how to deal with Matt’s tight-lipped expression or the searching glances. He stays up late working on projects and John winds up going to bed alone and waking up to Matt on the other side of the bed, the rift between as much physical as it is metaphorical. He’s beginning to expect the worst when, after disappearing for four hours on Christmas Eve, Matt comes in the front door smiling.

He disappears into the bedroom first, then wanders over to where John is frying up chicken. Matt hops up onto the counter, just out of arm’s reach, and breaks off a piece of the fried skin from one of the drumsticks cooling on the rack. John would chastise him like usual, but right now, he’s just too fucking grateful to have Matt in the same room with him.

“Good day?”

“You could say that,” Matt agrees. “I got some advice on a sensitive program issue, and now I think I’ve got it all figured out. Just gotta update the exceptions—”

“You realize, don’t you, that I have no clue what you’re talking about?”

Matt sighs and shakes his head, but he’s still smiling, his eyes a warmer shade of brown than usual. Like—

John groans internally, wondering when the fuck he became the kind of sap who compared human characteristics to food. If chocolate could be considered a food. It had no nutritional value, so probably not.

“One would think, John McClane, that after a year and a half of living together, you’d learn to speak at least _some_ geek. I learned how to interpret all your cop-speak!”

“That doesn’t count,” John says. “Most of that shit you looked up on the internet anyway. So what, you had a program but it was bad?”

“Not bad, exactly.” Matt reaches for another piece of friend chicken, and John moves in quickly to swat his hand away, passing him a block of cheese, a bowl and the shredder. As he continues, Matt gets to work shredding the cheese. “The program isn’t bad, just a bit outdated. It needed to be caught up to speed with the 21st century.”

John frowns at bit, but says nothing. It makes sense, he supposes. “But you fixed it?”

Matt shakes his head, and he’s smiling almost fondly, which is suspicious to say the least. “Not yet. I will, though. And then it’ll be better than ever. Cheese is done. Want me to make the sauce?”

“Have at it, kid.”

They work together is comfortable silence, and when dinner is ready, Matt loads their plates and carries them over to the table. He doesn’t start eating until John sits down across from him. As they eat, Matt continues to chat, covering everything from computer servers to an unplanned lunch date with Lucy.

“She was shopping for a few last-minute things and called to see if I was free for lunch. You’ll be glad to know she got Jim at least three really lame presents because she’s pissed off by how scared of you he is. Pretty sure she plans to give him an earful on the matter later, as well.”

John valiantly tries not to be pleased by this news, but he is. Jim is an asshole and not worthy of Lucy’s time. What she sees in the idiot, John has no idea, but he’s pretty sure at least seventy percent of it is her wanting to annoy John.

“What a shame,” John attempts, but he knows Matt can see right through his words. He concedes with a shrug. “He’s not what she really wants, not for the long run.”

“That’s kind of what she implied. Anyway, she and I had a good lunch. She gave me some invaluable insight on the internal workings of John McClane’s head.” 

Matt grins and John is sure he must look disgruntled. He _feels_ disgruntled. He doesn’t say anything in response, though, because he’s too busy just being glad that Matt isn’t pissed at him anymore. When Matt starts talking about their Christmas Day dinner plans, John listens, gives his input where he thinks it might be wanted and does his best not to fuck up again. 

After dinner has been stored away and the kitchen is clean, John heads for the couch while Matt disappears into the bedroom, presumably to shower. When he comes back out fifteen minutes later, his hair is damp, and he smells like John’s soap. He’s wearing jeans again, but John doesn’t ask. They each have their quirks and John finds it’s easier to just accept them than try and pick them apart. Besides, John hasn’t left the house all day and yet he still has his shoes on.

John makes room for Matt, and he’s not disappointed. Matt curls into him, not saying a word when John puts on an old western flick they’ve both seen too many times to count. And just like clockwork, ten minutes in, Matt’s leaning into him, nosing along the line of John’s jaw, his teeth nipping sharply.

It doesn’t take much to capture John’s attention, and Matt has it in spades. When John pushes him down against the cushions, twisting their bodies until they’re touching from head to toe, Matt goes easy, legs falling open so that John can slot himself between them. John wants him naked _now_ , so he starts jerking on Matt’s belt, yanking it off and throwing it halfway across the room while Matt gets their shirts off. Then he’s tugging Matt’s jeans down, only to freeze when he sees the silk boxers underneath. At the sight of them, John’s gut twists into itself and he has to look away, his fingers going tight in the couch cushions.

“Matt—” He begins, but he’s cut off by a hand to the mouth. John’s lips thin out, but he holds his tongue.

“Yeah,” Matt says, pushing John back enough to awkwardly kick off his pants. “Yeah, I know, but the thing is,” Matt says as he lies there, not letting John retreat and looking more than a little unsure of himself, but also a lot serious. “The thing is, you bought me these, even though I’m pretty sure what you really wanted...was to buy me _these_.”

As he speaks, he shoves the boxers down his legs, dragging them off and dropping them over the side of the couch. John follows the action for about half a second, then Matt’s words catch up with him and his gaze snaps back to Matt’s waist, locks on the two-inch wide stretch of [red lace](http://media.victoriassecret.com/product/prodpri2/V288927_RC25K.jpg) across Matt’s slim hips, the bulge of Matt’s cock beneath the slip of material covering his crotch. 

His breath hisses out of him and John closes his eyes for just a second. When he opens them again and Matt is still there, he rubs a rough hand down his face. His eyes slide upward, stopping at Matt’s face, and John can read the uncertainty there, the slight edge of worry tucked into the corners of Matt’s eyes. Just like that, everything inside John’s head quiets and he reaches out a single, trembling hand to palm Matt’s hip, his thumb stroking just under the lace waistband.

“I thought—”

Matt laughs shakily. “It took me a while to figure it out, what was going on inside that head of yours.” He doesn’t say anything about the long conversation he undoubtedly had with Lucy, and John is glad for that, he really is. “But when I did...I saw you looking at them that first day, when the three of us were shopping. And then the second time, when I got Lucy that silk robe she was pestering me for with hourly texts. But I—I didn’t really think much of it until about two days ago. Then I put two and two together and came up with this.”

He waves his hand awkwardly at the lace panties and John feels more than a little undone, not just by the sight of Matt in them, but the knowledge that all it would have taken was John admitting he wanted this. Then he remembers his reasons for keeping quiet about it, and he pulls his hand back.

“Look, kid—Matt, it’s—it’s great. I mean that, but you don’t have to—have to do...” He can’t think of the word he needs, and that only heightens the annoyance creeping in on him.

“I’m not. Look, I get it, okay. I can figure you out, Macho Man McClane. You know, with help.” The corner of his mouth quirks up, and John desperately wants to kiss it. “And I don’t, like, feel degraded because I’m wearing women’s panties. It’s weird, yeah, but it’s not a turn off. It’s even kind of a turn _on_ , when I see your reaction.”

This time, when John reaches for him, it’s with both hands, and he grips Matt’s hips, holding him in place. John hesitates for only a second, then he’s pressing his face to against Matt’s hip, breathing him in. When he turns his head, Matt’s dick is there, half-hard and twitching restlessly, and John mouths at it. He does that until the flimsy material is soaked and Matt’s dick is poking up out of the top, the head purple-red and leaking. Beneath his hands, Matt’s body quakes, and John takes pity on them both, sucking the head of Matt’s cock into his mouth.

John gets him off quickly like that, mouth sloppy and graceless from his desperation to see Matt fall apart like this. When he can feel the telltale tension building in Matt’s limbs, John pulls back and strokes him through the last of it, gaze dark and hungry as he watches Matt come. Only when Matt whimpers at the gentle stroking of his cock does John release him. 

He crawls back up the couch, kissing and nipping his way to Matt’s mouth. When he reaches his destination, he takes his time, drawing out the kiss until Matt is rutting restlessly against him again, not hard, but still wanting.

“Kid,” John says, voice ragged. “Jesus.” He tucks a hand under Matt’s back, slides his fingers inside the panties and he’s struck with the sudden realization that somewhere down the line, he sort of fell in love with this kid. He thinks maybe Matt has done the same.

“Come on, McClane,” Matt husks, curling his arms around John’s shoulders, biting at John’s neck. “Save your revelations until _after_ you’ve fucked me.”

John huffs out a laugh at that, digs his fingers into the smooth flesh of Matt’s ass, hauling him closer. When he dips one finger back further, it’s to find Matt is already slick and open, and John groans. 

“Jesus Christ, Matthew, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yeah, yeah, old news. Come _on_ already.”. 

Matt sets to work jerking John’s jeans open, his fingers deft as they tug John’s cock free, curling around him and stroking once, just the right side of too rough. They stare down at the contrast of Matt’s pale hand wrapped around John’s cock, flushed dark, then John reaches out with his free hand, scooping Matt’s cooling come on his fingers and smearing it over the head of his cock..

John takes over from there, shoving his jeans down past his hips, then tilting Matt’s hips up, situating him until the head of John’s cock is rubbing over the thin strip of lace bisecting Matt’s cheeks. He hisses, his grip no doubt bruising the pale skin of Matt’s hips, and uses the fingers of one hand to pull the flimsy material to the side. The whole time he’s lining himself up, pushing the head of his cock into Matt’s body, Matt is staring at him, eyes wide and dark, lips swollen and red, and he looks...

He looks like someone John wants to spend the rest of his life waking up beside. 

At the initial breach, Matt’s eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his bottom lip, all but clinging to John. The lacy edge of the panties slides over John’s shaft and he can’t stop the harsh sounds coming out of his mouth. It’s everything John wouldn’t let himself imagine and he doesn’t have the words to say thank you, not for something like this. Not for the way Matt goes boneless in John’s arms, letting him direct their movements, or the way Matt’s body just opens up for him, taking him in and holding him there, gripping John like Matt never wants them to be parted.

And maybe he doesn’t.

John takes a moment to find that iron control he’s so famous for, then he’s bracing himself against the arm of the couch, thrusting in hard and deep. He wants to keep it easy and slow, wants to savor this moment, but he can feel the lace of Matt’s panties, where it touches John’s skin with each rough slide, and it’s too hard not to let that influence his actions.

Matt generally holds his own when they’re in bed—or on the couch, or the dining room table or the kitchen floor—but this time he seems to be just as overwhelmed as John. He’s holding John’s gaze with half-lidded eyes, mouth slack as he pants out a soft _oh, oh, oh_ with every press of John’s hips. He’s halfway to hard again, but when he tries to snake a hand between them, John snarls, reaches out and takes hold of Matt’s hands, pinning them above his head.

“Just—fuck, just like this.” 

Matt nods, and arches up into the next thrust. It’s good—it’s _always_ good—but John needs more depth, so after another few moments, he pulls out and manhandles Matt onto his stomach. While he lets Matt get situated, John clamors off the couch, toeing off his shoes and kicking away the last of his clothing. Then he’s on the couch once more, nudging his way back inside Matt. It’s a little drier this time, but they’re always prepared for this, so John just reaches for the side table drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube that’s tucked far back, out of sight. He slicks himself up, then shoves in hard and fast.

“Oh. Oh _shit_ ,” Matt says, choking on the words. His whole body ripples, and he pushes back into John. 

Like this, John can see the T-line of the panties, and the way they shift against his cock as he fucks his way into Matt. It’s overwhelming and stunning, and John is going to have to find a way to make this up to Matt.

“No, you really, really don’t,” Matt insists. John starts at the realization that’s he’s talking aloud, but then, he’s balls-deep inside Matt. He’s not really paying much attention to anything else.

“Matt—Matty, _fuck_ , kid. I can’t—” 

He 'can’t' a lot of things at the moment, completing a single thought being primary among them. He tightens his grip on Matt’s hips and yanks him back hard, working up to a furious speed, until he’s pounding without rhythm. Through it all, Matt keeps up a steady, _oh, oh, yes. John, fuck, yes. Oh god, harder_ that only feeds into John’s desperation. 

When John feels the low pulse of his release coiling deep in his gut, he drops down to drape himself over Matt’s back, sliding a hand down to grab Matt’s now fully-hard cock. John strokes him twice, uncoordinated, his grip too loose to do much. Matt whines, but he doesn’t try to help, keeping his hands right where they are. Seconds later, John is coming hard, and he gasps wetly into the curve of Matt’s neck as he shakes through the aftershocks.

Before he’s even fully come down, John pulls out and moves down the couch, his hands on Matt’s thighs holding him in place. Matt’s skin is flushed, the red panties only making the pink more noticeable, and John pushes the flimsy strip covering Matt’s hole to the side. Matt is still open, and a thin trickle of come slides out, no longer trapped by the red lace. John groans at the sight of it, of the mess he’s made, and leans in, lapping the trail of come up. He moves up, tracing it back to the source pressing his tongue to Matt’s entrance, seeking out the rest. 

He doesn’t do this often, but Matt is fresh from a shower, and John has just realized how fucking much he loves this kid. Not because he’s willing to wear red panties for John, but because he cares enough to figure out what’s going on inside John’s head when John isn’t willing to verbalize it himself, and then act on it. And John, well. When it comes to Matt, there isn’t a whole lot John wouldn’t do to keep this kid happy.

John closes his mouth around Matt’s hole and sucks lightly, eliciting a sound suspiciously like a sob from Matt. It doesn’t take much during the rare instances he does this, just the sharp jabs of his tongue into Matt, alongside a finger that rides right over his prostate, and Matt is coming with a hoarse shout, his body clenching tight around John.

Afterward, when Matt is sated and half-unconscious, John leaves him sleeping on the couch and walks naked through the house to the bathroom. There, he rinses out his mouth, and soaks a washcloth in hot water. He returns to find that Matt hasn’t moved at all in the last five minutes, and John regards him fondly for a moment, before setting to work getting him cleaned up. He washes away the last traces of lube and come from both the kid and the couch, then tosses the washcloth aside and stretches out beside Matt. 

There’s a blanket on the back of the couch, and John tugs it down, covering them with it as Matt curls into him. The sex with Matt is amazing, but this is, sappily enough, John’s favorite part. When Matt is boneless and satisfied, and wants nothing more than to press himself into the curve of John’s body and stay there. He shoves his head under John’s chin, presses a clumsy kiss to John’s collarbone and mutters,

“Yeah, s’good. That wa—was awesome. S’a good thing I bought more. Green, bronze and then a pair that’s—that’s black and hot pink. Glad you didn’t tear ‘em. Vict—” He yawns, and John rubs a hand down his back, waiting for him to continue. “Victoria’s Secret is _not_ cheap, so just remember to be gentle on ‘em, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, kid,” John replies, and he lets sleep carry them away.


End file.
